Crossover
by Kyla Baines
Summary: It is the dawn of the Fifth Blight, and nothing ever turns out the way it is expected to. Zevran Arainai has been conscripted to the Grey Wardens, Alistair never made it to Ostagar, and Melodee Cousland is accompanied to Ostagar by someone unexpected. F!CouslandxZevranxAlistairxGil more.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _This is actually a re-write of a story I started a while ago. I decided that I wasn't particularly happy with how it was progressing, and have now begun to rework it through. I hope that this rendition is better than the first! This is __**not**__ just a play-through fiction (which, the first version started to turn into)… just read and find out! The main AU stuff will start in the next couple of chapters :-) __ Please let me know what you think – I absolutely adore reviews! _

**_Update:_**_ As of November 3, 2012, my pen name has changed from Rhapsody88 to **Kyla Baines**._

* * *

**Chapter 1**

The day was fair and breezy with early evening rays of the sun streaming out from behind the light and nebulous clouds. The bleached stone of Highever provided a canvas and pinks, oranges, reds, and yellows were thrown into relief on the walls. This beauty was, for the moment, lost on Melodee Cousland.

Stormy grey eyes flashed with ire as she stood up, brushing dirt from her trousers. Her raven hair, hastily braided back, had several small twigs and plenty of dust dulling its usual luster. She was of slight build, but had more than enough personality to make up for her small stature. "My little spitfire," her father, the honorable Teyrn of Highever would call her.

Her gaze was now fixed on her training partner and friend, Ser Gilmore. He was shaking with laughter, red hair clashing horribly with the sunset, as Melodee picked herself up, cursing under her breath. She caught sight of his mirth.

"If this is so funny to you, Gilmore, let's go again!" she said with heat, thoroughly irritated that he had bested her. "If I had my _usual_ blades, you wouldn't be so lucky right now."

"Believe me, my lady, I am well aware of that." Gilmore smirked at his friend. "However, as I've already told you, it's essential that you learn to adapt to different conditions should the need arise."

Melodee scowled. She knew the truth of his words, but her pride and arse were too bruised to admit that at present. It was rare to find a sparring partner that could push her to her limits anymore, and Ser Gilmore had stepped up and offered to help her improve. He constantly tested her abilities, gave her advice, and never held back during practice – something that the other knights usually did, seeing as it _was_ the Teyrn's daughter they were striking out at.

"Shall we try again?" the knight asked.

Melodee was about to respond when one of the younger pages ran towards them. He couldn't have been more than seven or eight years old, and his bright blue eyes burned with excitement at being sent on an errand.

"My lady!" He slid to a halt, barely remembering to salute the full knight that accompanied Melodee. "The Teyrn has requested that you meet him in the Great Hall."

She acknowledged the boy, who ran off again, only pausing long enough to stare in open awe at Ser Gilmore's highly polished armor, every rivet reflecting light, and the green heraldry of Highever and white laurel wreath of the Cousland's proudly declared his loyalty.

Melodee sighed. Of all the times for her father to request her presence, he _would_ choose immediately after a particularly rough training session! As she walked through back to the main castle from the practice grounds, she attempted to clean herself up a bit, realizing after a moment that it was a lost cause. Resigned to this fact, she grabbed an apple from a basket in passing, and savored the sweet juice that flooded her mouth upon breaking open the skin with her teeth.

She finished the snack rapidly, and pushed open the doors to the Great Hall. Silken drapes were already artfully hung from the high rafters in the green and white colors of her family – decorations for the feast that was being prepared for later that evening. As she strode forward, her footsteps echoing around the vast room, her father turned to greet her, a smile appearing as the sight of his daughter.

"Ah, Pup! Come here." Bryce Cousland embraced his daughter fondly before gesturing to the man standing in front of him. "I suspect that you remember Arl Howe?"

Melodee turned her gaze on her father's guest. Howe was a rather unpleasant looking individual: his hair was greying, and his muddy brown eyes appeared permanently irritated. His large nose turned crookedly down, as if it had been broken but never healed correctly. His lips were currently twisted into a smirk.

"Indeed. I hope that you are well, ser." Melodee inwardly winced as she noted the rather icy tone she had used. Though she wasn't entirely sure why, Howe had always unsettled her. Part of it was perhaps due to his appearance.

_Although, there was last summer when the Howes were here… He attempted all evening to get me interested in his son, Thomas, not realizing that I couldn't stand to look at the mousy-faced git, seeing as he reminded me so much of his father._

Howe's dull eyes regarded her now. "Well, well, Bryce. I see that your… daughter… is growing up splendidly. And, what's this?" His eyebrow rose at seeing the messy state her hair was in. "Surely you don't still allow her to play soldier with the guard?" Contempt for her appearance was plain on his face.

Bryce stepped towards his daughter, a proud smile on his face as he placed an arm around her shoulders. "And why not? She has turned into one of the finest duelists in Highever. I feel that I would be remiss as a father if I did not allow her some small joys outside of her future responsibilities. Not to mention, she needs to be prepared to defend herself should, Maker forbid, something terrible happen."

Melodee thought she saw a flicker of _something_ – was is suspicion, or perhaps fear? – pass through Howe's eyes at this last comment, but it was gone the second she looked closer. She gave herself a small shake and turned to her father once more. He was still smiling, seemingly oblivious to Howe's odd mannerisms. "I was told you required my presence, father?"

"Ah, yes, Pup. I need you to inform Fergus that he will be riding for Ostagar tonight, rather than tomorrow with my retinue and me." His voice trailed off as a new figure entered the hall. "Ah! Duncan! Greetings, and warmest welcome to Highever."

Melodee followed her father's gaze to see a tall, powerfully built man, his dark hair pulled severely out of his face with an expression to match his businesslike appearance. At the man's entrance, Howe shifted uncomfortably, and his eyes adopted a panicked expression – there was no mistaking _this_ change in demeanor. Melodee was so intent on studying the new visitor and Howe's reaction to him that she nearly missed what her father was saying.

"Duncan is a member of the Grey Wardens, Pup. You _do_ remember about the Wardens from your studies with Aldous?"

Her excitement rising, Melodee rattled off as many of the heroic facts concerning the Grey Wardens that she could remember. She finished, breathless with anticipation, by asking, "What brings you to Highever, Ser Duncan? Are you recruiting?"

"I am," he intoned in a deep, grave voice. "I have my eye on one or two of the knights, though I must say that your exhibition with Ser Gilmore earlier caught my interest. I expect that you would be able to hold your own against most of the Wardens. Some of our newer recruits, in particular, are rather… reckless. They could do with watching some of your finesse."

Melodee, flushing from the praise of the greatest warriors she was _certain_ she had ever met, looked up as her father positioned himself in front of her. His usually cheerful voice was as serious as she had ever heard it when he spoke. "While I admit that my only daughter is a capable fighter, I would not willingly see her torn from my family just yet."

Melodee raised shocked eyes to her father. Didn't he know how honored she would be to join such an elite company of fighters? "But, Father –"

"Melodee, no." His uncharacteristic use of her full name stopped her protest short. "You have your duties here at the castle. Maker knows your mother is frantic enough with Fergus and me leaving. She'd have my hide if I even considered allowing you to leave, too."

"Teyrn Cousland, I have no intention of invoking the Right of Conscription. The Wardens are not yet desperate to the point of recruiting every promising fighter when other options are still available," Duncan interjected, leaving Bryce visibly more relaxed. Melodee, however, struggled to keep her sulking internal.

"Very well, Duncan. I thank you, and I trust that you will find an excellent candidate from my guard." Melodee's father then turned to her. "Pup? We have other matters to discuss, now. Please pass along my message to Fergus; I am guessing that he will be upstairs spending a few last moments with Oriana and Oren. You should also pack a few essentials – I ride at first light, and nothing would please me more than having your lovely face there to see me off."

Melodee nodded her agreement, bade farewell to both Howe and Duncan, and extracted a promise from the Warden to speak more after the troops had departed – she was desperate for more information about the Wardens and for news from other parts of Ferelden and beyond.

* * *

On her way to the family suites, Melodee was waylaid once more, this time by her mother. "Darling! Did you extract that bear you call a dog from the kitchens? Nan was beside herself earlier… And have you been sparring _again_?" Her mother's eyes, grey like her own, were flashing with irritation, her silvering hair swept back in an elaborate style at the nape of her neck.

Melodee sighed. Her father tolerated - even encouraged - her practice sessions, but her mother expected her to maintain the sweet, demure exterior that was expected of a young lady of her rank. Though Lady Eleanor Cousland was a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield herself, she expected Melodee to act the part of a teyrn's daughter. Evidently, meeting her mother, Lady Landra, and Dairren – Landra's son – covered in sweat and grime did _not_ classify as presentable.

"Lykos is napping in my room, Mother. Nan is back to work on the feast for tonight, and yes, I did just finish practicing with Ser Gilmore."

"Hello my lady. You are looking lovely as ever. And, I must ask, did you manage to trounce poor Gilmore as soundly as you did me last summer?" Dairren and she were on friendly terms, but Melodee felt that he was more than a little disinclined to pursue anything further, largely due to his injured pride. At Dairren's suggestion, they had headed out to the practice fields for a friendly bout, and most of his friends as well as his father had trailed after them to watch. Melodee had then proceeded to engage and disarm Dairren in a matter of minutes. Though he had been trained in the use of sword and shield, he was significantly slower than his lithe rival, and had not spent countless hours practicing with knights as Melodee had.

Melodee grinned at the memory of the older boy on his back in the dirt with no sword, conceding his defeat. "Actually, today found _me_ on my back. I am sure that you can tell as much from my current appearance, though." She turned to her mother, then. "I just met the Grey Warden who is visiting; isn't it exciting to have one here in the castle? I can't wait to hear his stories!"

At this comment, Eleanor's expression became grave. "You aren't getting any fool notion in your head to run off and join the Wardens, are you? While I certainly appreciate your talents, darling, you still –"

"Have my duties to the castle in Father's absence." Melodee finished her mother's speech with a weary tone. "Yes, I know."

With a few last parting words to the group, Melodee continued upstairs, hoping that Fergus wouldn't keep her long so that she could enjoy a much needed bath.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Melodee eyed the offending garment that her mother was holding up, distaste written plainly on her face.

"I am _not_ wearing that." She was sure that she would look utterly ridiculous in such garb! There were yards of various shades of grey silk, artfully blended together so that it appeared the dress was made of quicksilver. The bodice was snug, and flowed down in gentle waves to the floor. Pure silver buttons secured the back, and _worst_ of all, there was a dark green sash that secured in a large bow at the back. It was, without a doubt, a beautiful dress – exactly the reason she wanted nothing to do with it!

"But, darling," Eleanor wheedled, "Your father brought the material all the way back from Orlais, and our seamstresses have been working on it for weeks! It's the very height of fashion!"

Melodee snorted, and ignored the way her mother's face wrinkled at the unladylike sound. "I just don't see why I have to get dressed up like a chit for dinner tonight."

"Your father's leaving – and Fergus – for Maker knows how long! I'm sure they would love to see you looking your best. Not to mention, there are several highly eligible young men here tonight…"

_Ah, and the true reason comes out at last_.

"If I can't find a man who doesn't appreciate me for who I am – blades, armor, and all – then I want no part of him." Melodee folded her arms with resolution, determined to win this battle.

Eleanor sniffed delicately. "Would you at least wear it for me? It goes ever so well with your eyes, my dear."

Melodee sighed, and consented. "Very well. But I absolutely _refuse_ to wear that atrocious bow!"

After several hours of submitting to her mother's ministrations, Melodee stood before a mirror, one eyebrow arched at the sight that greeted her. The dress _did_ look lovely – the material clung softly to her figure, and flowed in waves to the ground. The matching slippers with silver buckles were just visible when she walked. The bodice and arms fit snugly, and showed just a hint of her bosom. Melodee tugged at the neckline, wishing it were more modest. Her dark hair had been brushed until it shone in the soft candlelight of the room, and was left down in waves but for a few strands that had been woven back.

"You look absolutely lovely, darling!" Eleanor exclaimed. She was also dressed for the occasion in a rich purple gown, and her hair was done up in elaborate curls at the crown of her head.

Melodee rolled her eyes. "Let's just get this over with. I'm starving."

"_Do_ try to watch your table manners this evening, dear. Remember that you aren't eating with the Guard as you normally do…"

* * *

With a wink and smile at one of the knights posted outside, Melodee pushed open the heavy oak doors to the hall. Her nostrils were immediately assailed by thousands of enticing aromas: a suckling pig over the nearest fire, drops of rich fat falling onto the coals, rich meat pastries inspired by Orlesian fare, a spicy soup from Antiva, and, at the center of the room, a towering cake. Melodee knew from her recent trip to the kitchens that the center was almond with a raspberry preserve swirl, and the white frosting was adorned with candied mint, berries, and lemon. Tearing her attention from the sumptuous feast laid out, she saw that hundreds of candles in the chandeliers and wall sconces gave the entire hall a soft and welcoming glow.

As the guests began to eat their fill and drink of the rare wines that Bryce Cousland was so fond of, the teyrn stood to address his guests.

"My dear ladies and gentlemen – members of my own household, honored guests, and old friends – tonight we are gathered to celebrate with and honor the valiant men who go to Ostagar. It is they who stand tall in the face of evil and make this peaceful and prosperous life we have a reality…"

As her father continued speaking, she looked around with a smile at all of the faces in the room – her father was clearly loved by the people of Highever."

"So, it is with great pride that I now invite you all to lift your glasses in a toast." Bryce lifted his own goblet into the air, and hundreds at the tables below him followed suit. "To all of the brave men and women who defend Highever and all of Ferelden – to victory!"

A great cheer rose from the gathered masses, Melodee cheering as loudly as any; she only wished she were one of those soldiers her father spoke of: someone destined for the tales that old Aldous told to the young apprentices of Highever.

As the cheering died down, musicians began to play, and many of the men and women rose to dance to the lively lutes, drums, and flutes. Melodee knew that there were those in this room who, after tonight, would likely not see their loved one again – commanders may describe the forthcoming battles to be glorious, but bloodshed and loss were a reality of war. She was startled out of her dark thoughts by a light tap on her shoulder.

"Ser Gilmore! I thought that you had left with my brother earlier this evening?"

The knight smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. "No, my lady – I was supposed to, but your father requested at the last minute that I stay until dawn to accompany him. And how many times must I tell you to call me Rory?"

Melodee laughed lightly; there was no doubt that she would miss her training partner and friend. "Very well, Ser Rory… And, how many times must _I_ ask _you_ to call me Melodee?"

He just chuckled. Then, much to Melodee's surprise, he dropped into a bow, held out a gauntleted hand, and said, "May I have this dance, Melodee?"

"Oh! I, ah, don't really dance much."

"Come now," Gilmore said with a laugh, "The mightiest warrior in Highever can't be afraid of a little dancing, can she?"

Melodee scowled at him. "Well, I suppose if you put it _that_ way, I'll have to dance, now won't I?"

They walked out to the dance floor, and Melodee was horrified to note that the musicians had switched to a much slower tune – a song for lovers to dance to. The knight pulled her close to his chest, and held her securely around the waist with one hand, lighting cupping her own hand with his other. They began to move in time with the music, and Melodee tried not to pay much attention to the way her heart was beginning to flutter.

"You look exquisite tonight, my lady." Gilmore's voice was soft and she felt his warm breath slide down her neck as he spoke.

Melodee laughed, though it sounded forced even to her. "I actually think I look ridiculous – imagine if we were to be attacked right now! I'd be useless in this get-up!"

After a moment's pause, Gilmore stopped dancing. They stood there for a moment before he spoke again. "Melodee, I'd like to ask you something. Something serious."

Swallowing hard, she nodded.

"I know that I'm about to leave for Ostagar, and there's a chance I'll never return. Before I go, though, I need to get something off my chest." He took a deep breath, as if to fortify himself, and raked a hand through shaggy red hair. "You must know how I feel about you. I would like to know if there is even a small part of you that might feel the same way about me. If there is, would you do me the honor of allowing me to court you upon my return?"

Melodee was too stunned to notice that the music had stopped, and many of the other dancers were looking at them curiously as they exited the floor. "I – I don't really know what to say…" She struggled to find words – any words – to say to the man standing in front of her. "You are one of my dearest friends, Rory. I suppose that I haven't even thought about… us… at any length."

He took her hand in his, and gave her a small smile. "It's all right, my lady. I understand that my request was somewhat… abrupt. Would you at least think on it while I'm away? It would give me great joy to think that I'm off battling darkspawn on the behalf of someone like you."

Melodee smiled at the hopeful look on his face, and nodded. "I can certainly promise you that much, ser knight. Just do me one favor?"

"Anything."

"Try not to get yourself killed so that we can talk about this again." These last words were spoken in a whisper, and Melodee knew that she meant them with every fiber of her being. Potential suitor or not, she didn't think that she could stand the thought of him dying on some Maker-forsaken battlefield – that thought was nearly as bad as the thought of her father or Fergus being killed.

Giving herself a small shake, Melodee tilted her head up to smile at the anxious man at her side, and she took his arm and walked off the dance floor. She walked up to the dais where the head table was, and gave her father a kiss on the cheek. Bryce Cousland, who missed nothing where his daughter was concerned, gave her a knowing smile.

"I love you, Pup. Get some sleep and I will see you in the morning at the gates."

That evening, with the warmth of her mabari at her side and her fingers entwined in his russet fur, Melodee drifted off to sleep. Her last thoughts before the Fade claimed her were of blue eyes and strong arms.

* * *

**A/N:** _Gah! The fluff just won't stop coming! This was *very* different from my first iteration of the story, and really quite unplanned… See what these characters do to me, sometimes? I hope that you enjoy, and please drop me a line to let me know what you think! _


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Melodee groaned and rolled over, pulling her extra pillow over her head.

_That dog can't possibly need to be let out again, can he? I must have just gone to bed!_

"Andraste's holy knickers, Lykos, would you shut it?" She threw her pillow to the side, sitting up and glaring at her canine friend. His dark, intelligent eyes met hers for a moment before he turned his head back to the door. The fur on his shoulders and back rose, and his ears flattened against his head. He began to growl again.

Melodee sighed, and swung her feet down, shivering as they hit the cold stone floor. She paused, looking at her dog. He had been _growling_, not whining. She wracked her brain trying to recall the last time she had heard him growling at anything. She stood up quickly and moved to her daggers, remembering the previous summer vividly.

_Oriana had flounced into Melodee's room early one afternoon, placing a slender hand on one hip. She had insisted that Melodee come immediately to call off her 'vicious dog,' who had been growling nonstop at Oren. Oriana was afraid the dog would bite her son. Melodee had assured her that Lykos adored the little boy and would never hurt him, but came along to retrieve her friend anyway. It had indeed struck her as odd that her sweet-tempered friend would be growling in a young boy's direction, but upon closer inspection, he had actually been trying to alert them all to the large, poisonous spider that was lurking under Oren's toy cabinet. _

Hastily clothing herself in the traveling things that she had set out and strapping on her daggers, Melodee whispered to Lykos. "What's going on, boy? What's out there?"

He just growled at the door again, inching closer with his shoulders high and head held low to the ground.

Melodee padded to the door, her supple leather boots making no sound against the hard floor. She cracked the door open and jumped back as an arrow embedded itself into the wooden door frame, inches from where it had cracked open. Unsheathing her daggers, Melodee gave a three note whistle, signaling Lykos to attack. With a bark he charged, pushing the door open and leaping onto the nearest opponent with his front paws, knocking him down. Ignoring the man's shriek of pain as Lykos tore at him, Melodee sprinted forward to engage the archer who had shot at her and missed. With deft hands, she sliced his bowstring, rendering his weapon useless. The stunned man looked at her in shock, and fell to his knees without a sound as he was dispatched of.

Melodee turned on her heel as Lykos issued a warning bark. A man was almost upon her, and she desperately raised her daggers in a futile attempt to block the impending attack. Her jaw dropped as he halted, then fell face-first to the floor, an arrow protruding from his back. Melodee raised her head to see her mother silhouetted in the doorway by the waning moon that barely peeked out from behind the growing clouds. With her fine leather armor streaked with the blood of her adversaries, graying hair escaping from the confines of its bun, tight grip on her elm longbow, and look of grim determination on her face, Eleanor Cousland looked every inch the Battlemaiden of Highever.

"Darling! Are you alright?" Eleanor rushed forward to check her daughter for injuries.

"I'm fine, thanks to Lykos, here," she said, patting the dog's large head with affection. "Mother, what's going on? The armor on these men, and that shield… the brown bear is the heraldry of Amaranthine! These are Howe's men!"

Eleanor's eyes narrowed. "Yes. He's betrayed us. That _bastard_!"

Her mother's outburst would have been surprising to Melodee under any other circumstance – she'd hardly ever heard the teyrna speak ill of anyone. "Mother, we need to get Oren and Oriana, find Father, and get out of here quickly! They mean to kill us all!"

The tension seemed to melt away from Eleanor's shoulders as they sagged and she hung her head. "I've already checked across the hall," she said in barely more than whisper. "I didn't get there in time – I walked through the door just as they dropped my poor Oren to the floor."

Melodee's heart was beating painfully hard against her chest. Breathing was becoming difficult. "No –" she choked the one word out.

A single tear dropped from Eleanor's eye. "Yes. I made them pay for what they did, though. I wouldn't have believed Howe capable of such atrocities, but it appears he will stop at nothing to claim what is ours."

"And, what of Father?" Melodee was barely able to ask the question she feared above all else. Her father – the man she measured all others against – he couldn't _possibly_ be gone!

"I do not know," said Eleanor, selecting another arrow from her quiver and motioning Melodee to follow her. "He didn't come to bed last night. If he is alright, he will surely be waiting for us. He will probably be near the main entrance."

They sped through the top level of the castle, both easily blending into the many dark corners and shadows offered by the cloudy night, and were able to avoid the notice of the soldiers that were sweeping through the corridors with deadly intent. Eleanor paused at the alcove where she had been speaking with Lady Landra earlier that day. She pulled aside one of the ornate, heavy tapestries to reveal a narrow passageway that was cleverly camouflaged to resemble the rest of the stone wall. She motioned Melodee and Lykos into the opening.

It was a tight fit for all of them, and Melodee felt as though the walls were inching closer together as the passageway led downward. She swallowed hard past the knot that had risen in her throat. The air was damp, and smelled of mold and mildew, and the stone walls were rough and cool as she dragged her hands along them as a guide in the dark.

"This passage is only known by your father, myself, and now you. It opens up into a small room in the main hall behind where the head table is located. Your father often had me sit in there, unobserved, while he met with visitors so that I could watch their actions and give him my opinion later." Eleanor's whispered words echoed strangely in the tight space.

After what seemed an eternity, the floor leveled out, and Melodee saw a hint of lantern-light ahead. She forced herself to continue to walk at a slow pace, unsure of what they would encounter. After rounding a corner they emerged into a small room, furnished sparsely with two chairs and a table. There was one pane of thick glass that looked out at the great hall.

Melodee stepped forward hesitantly – the window was huge, and she could hear the muffled sound of clashing metal and shouting through it as the men of Highever fought against Howe's. The glass was oddly tinted, and it seemed as though it glass had been roughly hewn as it and had countless, haphazardly placed facets that caused the figures below to appear distorted. She reached out to touch it, startled to find that the inside of the pane was as smooth as any other window in the castle. She looked at Eleanor, eyebrows raised in question.

Her mother smiled at her astonishment as she answered the unspoken query. "Your father had a magician help develop this. The rough appearance is because the outside of the window is carved to resemble the stones of the hall itself. The tint that you can detect is because from the other side, this unidirectional pane is colored, as well, to resemble those stones."

Melodee marveled at the feat of engineering and magic, forgetting, for a moment, their purpose for being here.

"I was hoping that we might find your father here." Her mother's voice broke through her thoughts.

Melodee nodded. "We need to help the soldiers out there – maybe they know where Father is."

Eleanor pointed towards the door. "Let's be quick."

They emerged through the door, and the full sound of the battle assaulted their ears painfully after the quiet journey through the passageway. Melodee ran forward, followed by Lykos who was barking madly. She quickly fought her way towards the front of the hall where most of her father's men were located. The battle was winding down, and Melodee let the soldiers finish off the last few of their attackers who had managed to make it into the hall. She walked forward to speak with Ser Gilmore, who held his sword loosely at his side as he shouted orders to his men.

"Get that door barred! Break down the tables if you have to – we need to get this place secure!" His voice was strained, and Melodee noted how pale he was. He turned, and shock read plainly on his face as he saw her and Eleanor standing there. "My lady! Your ladyship! We feared the worst when we saw that Howe's men had broken through!"

"We're fine," Melodee said with haste, "but we fear for my father. Have you seen him?"

Gilmore nodded. "He went to the kitchens. He was hoping you would meet him there at the servants' exit, but he told me that if you came here first, I was to accompany you there."

Melodee nodded, smiling gratefully at her friend. Eleanor waved them both forward. "We need to move! Bryce may be injured, and we don't have much time before the rest of Howe's men break through."

Melodee glanced at the large, main doors, knowing her mother's words to be true – it was no longer a question of _if_ the enemy would break into the hall, but _when_. While the interior doors were impressive to behold with their tall, wooden planks, polished metal grooves, and intricate carvings, it was almost all for show – the exterior gates were reinforced, while these were simply a grand entrance to the main hall. It was assumed that the outer gates could be shut before an enemy arrived, but the Couslands never suspected that they had allowed an even more dangerous viper into their sanctuary just days before.

The group ran through the side door, making their way towards the kitchens. They met little opposition, but were glad for Gilmore's help when they did – Melodee and Eleanor were both tiring from the fighting they had already done. At long last, they sprinted into the main kitchen, slamming the door behind them. Melodee noticed that the fire was still going in the hearth, staying hot in preparation for the morning meal – it was as if they had walked into another world when they entered these untouched rooms.

"Bryce!"

Eleanor's frantic call brought Melodee unpleasantly back to reality. She turned to see her mother sprinting into the small pantry where the servants' exit was concealed. Walking forward, she held her breath as the scene came into view.

Eleanor was already kneeling down, scarlet liquid seeping into her leather armor. As Melodee looked to her mother's right, she had to grab onto Gilmore's arm to steady herself – Bryce Cousland was lying in a pool of blood, his left hand clamped over his lower side.

"Pup…I knew you would make it." His voice was thick with strain.

"Bryce, you'll be alright," Eleanor said, fussing over him with trembling hands, "We'll get you out of here and find a healer… Everything will be fine."

"I fear," Bryce said with a weak voice, "I will not last the stand…"

"No! You'll be fine, Father!" Melodee heard her voice break.

_I will _not_ lose him this way! _

"I am afraid the teyrn is right." Melodee spun, drawing a dagger as a deeper voice spoke from directly behind her. Lowering it slowly, she recognized him as the Grey Warden she had met earlier. Clad in polished, silver armor with a griffon emblazoned on the breastplate, and clutching a longsword flecked with the blood of his slain enemies, he looked every bit the conquering hero from the tales of old.

_If ever there was someone who could help us, this is he!_

"Duncan! Please, help us – help my father –"

"Too late for me, Pup," coughed Bryce. He waved off her protestations, and turned to fix the warden with a piercing gaze. "Duncan, take my family to safety. I beg you."

The stoic warden nodded. "I will do this, my lord, but I fear I must ask for something in return."

"Anything."

"The chaos and destruction you are experiencing first-hand pales in comparison to the threat of the darkspawn. I came here for a purpose – to find new recruits – and I cannot return to Ostagar without one."

Bryce nodded his understanding. "As long as you get them all out, and find somewhere for my wife, you may recruit Ser Gilmore to the Grey Wardens – my daughter, as well."

"Father, no! I won't leave you here to die alone!" Melodee cried, tears spilling down her cheeks. All her thoughts of glory from the previous day were dispelled in the face of her family's crisis. She would gladly stay home and never touch her daggers again if it meant they would all be safe.

Eleanor laid a gentle hand on her daughter's arm, smiling sadly. "You won't be leaving him alone, darling. I will be staying, too."

"Love, no –"

Eleanor cut her husband off gently. "No, Bryce. I've made up my mind. My place is at your side, until death and beyond. Maker help me, I'll cut down every bastard that comes through that door, as long as it means it will buy our daughter more time."

Bryce put his hand gently on Eleanor's cheek. He said nothing, but no words were needed for Eleanor to understand his meaning.

Ser Gilmore, who had been silent through the entire exchange, drew his sword and spoke quietly. "Lady Eleanor, I will stay as well. The two of us together can buy your daughter much more time than you alone."

Bryce struggled to speak, his words growing fainter each minute. "Ser Gilmore, no. You should go with the warden as well – save yourself."

Gilmore glanced at Melodee, sadness dulling his blue eyes, before addressing the teyrn. "With all due respect, my lord: no. My place is here. In any case, Duncan and Melodee will be faster without me."

"So be it." Duncan's grave voice spoke after a moment's silence. His head turned as they all heard a loud _crash_ in the distance. "Howe's men have broken through. We must go."

Melodee ran forward and hugged both of her parents, tears running freely down her cheeks. "I love you both – so much. I _swear_ that I will avenge you!"

"Just _live_, Pup. We are… so proud of you."

Melodee rose and walked slowly towards the knight that stood next to her mother. She threw her arms around him, trying to pour all of her feelings – conflicted though they might be – into that one, hasty embrace.

"My lady, I'm sorry, but we must go!" Duncan grabbed her arm, pulling her towards the small exit. As she followed him into the dark tunnel, Melodee heard the voices of her parents calling after her with their love. She wiped the tears from her eyes roughly, and wound her fingers through Lykos' rough fur for comfort. Here, in this dark passageway running for her life, was no place to lose her composure.

She pushed back her sadness, anger, and fear, and focused on the task at hand – survival. There would be time enough for mourning later.

* * *

**A/N:** _Ok, I *promise* we will get to the real AU stuff soon! Please bear with me in the meantime, and let me know what you think so far! _


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Melodee awoke for the second time in as many days to Lykos growling, but this time she was not alone – Duncan, who had been on watch, heard the dog as well and rose silently from his bedroll, motioning for her to be quiet. She nodded her acquiescence and watched the warden stalk away into the stand of trees they had made camp in, not far south from Highever.

She heard a soft thud and a groan of pain, but from who – Duncan or the invisible assailant – she did not know. She unsheathed one of her daggers, fearing what might come through the trees. Her breathing was shallow, and her pulse raced from the adrenaline that hadn't let up since the night before. They had travelled hard through the night and most of the day, the difficult trek on foot doing surprisingly little to calm Melodee's nerves. When they had finally stopped to make camp that evening, it had taken Melodee hours to calm down enough to doze off into a light sleep, even though her muscles were aching. Her senses were on high alert once more, and she readied herself for the worst.

She heard footsteps approaching their camp once more, and she melted into the shadows, dagger still gripped tightly in one hand. She heard a soft chuckle as Duncan walked into view and looked around, presumably for her.

"It's alright, Melodee. You may show yourself. In fact, you may want to see what's been pursuing us." Duncan's deep voice was tinged with amusement, and piqued her interest enough for her to step cautiously out into the open again.

There was a prone figure next to Duncan's bedroll, and it shifted and gave a groan of pain, before speaking. "Maker's breath, what did you go and hit me around the head for?"

Melodee stopped, her entire body growing cold.

_I know that voice._

"You should know better than to try and sneak up on a Grey Warden, lad," Duncan said, "I believe it is Ser Gilmore, correct?"

Melodee walked swiftly over to look closer at the man Duncan had found, not daring to believe it could be her friend. Hundreds of questions raced through her head, her overtaxed mind finding them difficult to process. As she looked down at the familiar face, the auburn hair on the right side of his head matted with dried blood, she sank to her knees. She tentatively reached for the cut on his head, but drew her hand back at the last moment.

"My lady…"

She swallowed hard and said in a shaky voice, "You're hurt."

Gilmore grinned weakly before replying. "Nothing too serious. I'd managed to stop the bleeding before Duncan clouted me over the head again."

The senior warden ignored this comment and arranged himself on his bedroll once more.

Melodee handed her friend some water and a bandage, and swallowed hard before speaking once more. "Ser Gilmore, how did you get away? What of my parents? My home?" She was afraid to know the answer, but knew she needed it for some amount of closure.

The knight went rigid, and paused before meeting her gaze. His own blue eyes were darkened and haunted by the memories of that horrific night.

"The cut you see on my head was from an arrow that nearly killed me. After it grazed me, a swordsman knocked me out, and must have thought he finished the job. I came to sometime later, and while it was still quiet, I decided to sneak out and try to find you. I – your family –"

Seeing him falter, Melodee gripped his arm tightly, and gave a terse nod to tell him to continue.

"I'm sorry, my lady. I fought as long as I could, but Lady Eleanor fell just before me." His voice was thick with sadness and regret, and Melodee took a deep, shaky breath, finding it difficult to breathe. "I am so sorry that I didn't last longer. Perhaps, had I done better, I could have given them more time."

Melodee looked up, unshed tears glistening in her eyes. She spoke quietly. "It isn't your fault. Do not blame yourself for this, just help me find a way to bring Howe to justice."

Gilmore just nodded.

"I – you should get some rest," said Melodee, grasping for words. "It is my watch, now. I'll get you up when it's your turn."

Unable to bear talking about the events of the previous night any longer, Melodee rose and walked just beyond the lighted area the fire provided, and sat down heavily on a fallen log. Lykos padded over, laying his head on her knee and whining plaintively. She took several deep breaths, and finally gave in to the grief that coursed through her. She dropped down to sit in front of the log, knees pulled up to her chest, and wrapped her arms around the mabari's neck, tears streaming silently down her face. She tried desperately to control her sadness once again, but it seemed that once she had let her guard down, there was no turning back. With deep, heaving breaths, she poured out her sorrows, praying that Duncan didn't hear and think her weak.

Suddenly, a strong arm lifted her to her feet and pulled her into hard embrace against a silver breastplate. She fell against the knight, and continued to cry, Lykos now leaning heavily against her leg. After some time, she felt herself begin to calm, and her tears dry up. She sat down next to her friend, leaning her head on his shoulder, desperate to maintain contact with the last living person from her razed home. He ignored her urging to get some sleep, insisting that he wasn't tired. They sat in silence for a long time, Gilmore gently stroking her hair. Finally, Melodee drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

By the following morning, Melodee was back to her composed self, realizing that allowing herself the time to grieve the night before had cleared her head a surprising amount. She still felt the sharp pain of loss, twisting as a knife in her gut, but now that her tears were spent, she felt renewed with purpose – Howe _would_ pay for betraying her family. She was also not alone, and glanced at Gilmore's back as he walked alongside Duncan, filling the warden in on the details of his escape.

_Together – together we can find Fergus, get through this and exact the revenge my family deserves._

As the days passed and they travelled further south, Melodee only felt her resolve grow – it was as if a spark had ignited inside of her, and now had transformed into a fire that coursed through her veins. She vowed that as soon as she had fulfilled her duties as a Grey Warden, thereby keeping her last promise to her father, she would personally track down that murdering bastard and drive her own blade into his gut.

She gradually fell back into her easy camaraderie with Gilmore, and Duncan encouraged them to continue to spar. He even stepped in to offer advice and critique most evenings. Melodee watched in awe – and just a hint of envy – whenever Duncan wielded his own two blades and whirled into action with Gilmore. She eagerly drank in every detail of the veteran's fighting techniques, and began to mimic what she had seen, becoming stronger, more graceful, and more intuitive with each passing day. Gilmore, too, showed great improvement under the tutelage of Duncan, and Melodee was sure that by the time they reached Ostagar, there would be no finer swordsman than her friend.

Finally, on a cool afternoon, Duncan interrupted the chattering pair behind him.

"Just after we crest this hill, you should have your first glimpse of Ostagar."

Melodee and Gilmore glanced with trepidation at one another – both hoped to reunite with Fergus, but neither was anxious to give him news of what had occurred at Highever. Melodee felt a surge of pain as she remembered Oren and Oriana lying dead across the hall from her room. They walked up the hill and Melodee had to suppress a gasp as they neared an enormous bridge.

Ostagar was unlike anything she had ever seen before. While Highever boasted structurally sound and aesthetically pleasing buildings, Ostagar was a monument to a golden age long ago. The darkened ruins of towers shot skyward, many of them overrun by vines and moss. There were enormous boulders that had fallen, scattering the immense battlefield in the valley below. The bridge itself was wide enough to march a score of men shoulder-to-shoulder down it comfortably. An ethereal mist hung over the entire scene, reminding Melodee of the descriptions she had read of the battlefields in the aftermath of the fourth Blight, centuries ago.

She was so caught up in the ancient grandeur in front of her that Gilmore had to nudge her gently to draw her attention to the small contingent of soldiers now approaching them. At their head was a man in brilliant, golden armor emblazoned with a dragon's head on the breastplate. It glinted in the fading sun, and small droplets of water from the mist gave the illusion that the plate was encrusted with thousands of diamonds. The man himself had hair to match and a jubilant expression on his face. As Melodee dropped into a curtsey, recognizing him instantly as the King of Ferelden, she heard Duncan mutter, "Your highness, I did not expect –"

"A royal welcome?" The man flashed each of them a brilliant smile, his light blue eyes dancing merrily.

Melodee arched an eyebrow at the casual – even joking – greeting that King Cailan had given them.

_He is certainly not what I expected of a king._

* * *

**A/N:** _Well, once again, the characters have run away with the story! I tried writing this chapter several times before realizing that Gilmore was __**not**__ going to allow me to ignore him anymore! This completely changes what I had in mind from the start, so I guess we will see where it takes us now! Enjoy, and please let me know what you think of this new twist!_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Melodee shifted her weight edgily. Now that they had arrived at Ostagar, she was anxious to find her brother and tell him all that had transpired at their home. Although the pain was still raw, seeing her one remaining family member would provide much-needed catharsis. Her thoughts were tugged back to the present, though, as the king spoke.

"So, this strapping lad must be your new recruit, Duncan? If so, who is this that accompanies you both?" His voice was honeyed as he addressed her directly. "Forgive me for saying so, my lady, but the army is no place for one as lovely as you."

Melodee's eyes narrowed with irritation at his words, and her voice was clipped with ire as she responded before Duncan could clear the air. "Excuse me, your _highness_, but have you truly not heard what has happened in Highever?"

Her breast heaving, Melodee allowed Duncan to cut in and explain the rest. "Teyrn Cousland and his wife lay dead – slain by Arl Rendon Howe. As far as we know, the three of us are the only survivors of the massacre. If we had not arrived here, Howe would no doubt have told you whatever lie he saw fit."

The king appeared to be taken completely aback by the news. "Howe? Surely not – he has been a loyal friend to Loghain and me for years. Yet, here you stand, honor-bound to speak the truth." Shaking his head, he turned to Melodee once more, "So, dear lady, how did you manage to escape with these two? Did you happen to find a place to hide until they came along? In the kitchens, perhaps, or a storage room near the entrance?"

Ser Gilmore broke in here, clearly unable to hold in his frustration any longer. "King Cailan, this is none other than Lady Melodee Cousland that you are addressing in such a manner. My lady is also not one to ever dream of hiding – she and her mother fought their way through the entire castle before finding the teyrn. I beg you to show a modicum more respect to one who has been through as much as she!"

"Lady Cousland?" The king's light blue eyes were wide with shock as he appraised her once again, clearly oblivious to the less than appropriate way he had just been spoken to. "Why, the last time I saw you we were both much younger, your dress was covered in dirt, and you kicked me in the shin!"

Melodee flushed – she had all but erased that memory from her mind. Before she could respond, though, Duncan spoke once more. "Lady Cousland is also here as a recruit, your highness. She is a skilled fighter, and I have no doubt that she will perform her duties as a Grey Warden admirably."

"Two recruits?" The king's perfectly sculpted eyebrows rose. "Luck is with us, indeed, Duncan! I trust that you will get all of your recruits ready for the great battle that lies before us."

"As soon as possible, your majesty," Duncan replied.

"Excellent!" The king clapped his hands together. "Lady Cousland, it was a pleasure to see you once again. Although I must go now, perhaps we could speak again later?"

"If time permits, perhaps. Before you leave, though, could I inquire where my brother, Fergus Cousland, might be found?" Melodee forced her voice to remain even.

"Ah, I fear that the one thing you ask of me I cannot help you with at present. Your brother left just this morning on a scouting expedition into the Korcari Wilds. He and the rest of his men are not expected back in time for the battle." The king's voice softened, then. "Truly, my lady, I am sorry for what has happened, and even sorrier that your brother is not here for you to grieve with. I swear to you that as soon as these darkspawn are dealt with, your family will be avenged."

Melodee nodded her thanks, not trusting her voice to remain even now that the chance of speaking with her brother was gone for the moment.

As the king and his entourage walked briskly away, Duncan, Gilmore, and Melodee followed at a slower pace. As the sun began to sink below the horizon, the mist in the valley below reflected the light, a writhing sea of airy gold. Melodee could feel Gilmore's eyes on her, but she did not wish to speak any more about Highever or her brother's absence until she'd had time to process this new turn of events.

As they reached the camp Duncan turned to the pair. "You both have the rest of the evening to do with as you please. As the battle is fast approaching, though, it is best that we proceed with the Joining ritual without delay. When you are ready, look for our newest recruit, Zevran Arainai." Here, Duncan paused, then with some amusement continued, "He should not be hard to find. Zevran is quite… outspoken. Once you have met with him, come to my tent to discuss plans for tomorrow." Turning to Melodee, he addressed her directly. "If you would like, your hound may stay with me while you and Ser Gilmore explore the camp. I daresay he is probably exhausted after our traveling these past weeks."

Melodee smiled faintly and nodded. She thanked Duncan, and she and Gilmore walked away. As soon as they were out of earshot, though, Gilmore turned to her and asked with a crooked smile, "Did I hear that right? Did you _actually_ kick the king of Ferelden in the shin when you were younger?"

Flushing, Melodee nodded. Clearly unwilling to let her get away with a simple not of her head, Gilmore crossed his arms and waited for her to continue.

She cleared her throat. "Well, I was in Highever with my parents a few years before King Maric died. We were out shopping, and I was bored with how long it was taking Mother to choose fabric for a new dress. I saw two boys playing with sticks down a side street, and wandered off to see what they were doing. They were playing at sword-fighting, and it turns out that Cailan was one of the boys, though I didn't know that he was the heir to the throne back then. I asked if I could join in, and they laughed at me."

Gilmore chuckled. "I can guess how well that turned out, then."

Melodee laughed in agreement. "Yes, I was rather irritated. I pushed the other boy and took his stick from him. Cailan swiped my legs out from underneath me, and I landed in a pile of mud. They both stood there, pointing and laughing and calling me a 'little girl.' I stood up and whacked the first boy over the head with the stick I had taken from him, and kicked Cailan as hard as I could. Before we could actually fight anymore, though, we all heard my mother calling for me, and I had to leave."

Gilmore roared with laugher.

"As you can imagine, I never expected one of those boys to end up as our king!" Melodee laughed right along with her friend, and they began to walk through the bustling camp once again.

* * *

They soon discovered that the camp was well-organized, with many people willing to point them in the right direction. A group of soldiers rose from an evening prayer session in the center of the camp, and Ser Gilmore stepped aside to greet an old acquaintance of his – Ser Jory from Redcliffe. As the two of them spoke, Melodee drifted aside and watched a group of the Circle mages practicing their craft; she had always been fascinated by the mages who could harness magical powers to command fire or lightning to rain down upon enemies, to heal a wound almost instantly, and even to change forms! Like a red-hot poker, her grief returned as she remembered her old tutor, Aldous, and how he had spent hours trying to explain the mysteries of the Fade to Melodee when she was a child.

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, and she struggled to even her breathing and calm the anger that surged through her at the thought of Rendon Howe.

_That bastard will pay_.

With her eyes closed, she felt a sense of calm begin to steal through her once more. Just as she was about to open her eyes and look around for her companion, she felt a sharp slap to her rear end. Spinning around, she reached for her daggers, only to find that they were missing. Anger and panic surged through her, and she looked up to see an unfamiliar face. A young man with short-cropped black hair stood in front of her, and she narrowed her eyes as she saw him idly flipping one of her daggers in his left hand, a mischievous smirk on his face.

"You know, sweetheart, you really shouldn't leave pretty knives like this just lying about." His voice had an accent that Melodee couldn't place, and she narrowed her eyes at the rogue.

She held her hands out without saying a word. He tossed her both of the daggers in quick succession, and whistled in mock admiration as she caught them both by the handles. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed that Gilmore had seen what had happened, as was now striding briskly over to where she stood, the other knight clanking along after him. Ignoring her friend's concerned look, she focused on the irritating figure who still stood in front of her, his arms crossed casually over his chest. She strode forward, and smiled sweetly.

"And who, might I ask, are you?"

"Name's Daveth." His eyes raked over her body, pausing very noticeably to ogle her heaving breast. "And who are you, doll?"

Still smiling she kicked out hard, her foot smacking into his abdomen to send him crashing to the ground. Before he could recover, she had her knee pressed into his chest and the tip of her dagger at his throat. "Well, Daveth, here's the thing: I haven't had the best week so far. If you push my patience any further with that clever tongue of yours, take my blades, or touch me again, I may just need to find some sort of outlet for my frustration." She pressed her dagger almost hard enough to draw blood to prove her point. "Are we clear?"

"Crystal," the man said.

Gilmore stepped forward as Melodee rose to her feet. "I'd offer to help, my lady, but it seems that you've got things well under control."

"Yes, I think I do," she replied, still glaring at Daveth, who appeared completely unruffled by the entire ordeal. She motioned for Gilmore to follow her, and they wove their way through the growing assembly of troops who were waiting for the evening meal to be served. She leaned in conspiratorially, grinning at him. "And, Rory? Since we are in the army now, _do_ try to forget my title. Something tells me that our comrades and these darkspawn we will be facing will be less than impressed with my rank."

* * *

As they wandered through the ruins in search of the junior Grey Warden, Melodee learned from her friend that Ser Jory was one of the other two recruits. She wondered idly who the other could be. Finally, they walked up a small flight of crumbling stairs, and found themselves on the precipice of an amusing – if heated – exchange between an elf with a strong Antivan accent and a flustered Circle mage.

"Ah, but my dear, magical friend, I do believe that things would be _so_ much easier if you would just go and meet with the charming Revered Mother," said the elf. His light blonde hair was impeccably styled, and his eyes twinkled out of a tanned and sculpted face, full of mischief.

"What her _Reverence_ desires is of no concern to me!" retorted the mage. His dark blue robes swirled with each frustrated gesture he made.

"And what if what she desires is a little, say, romantic evening encounter with one so handsome as you?" The elf winked at the bewildered mage, his voice heavy with implication.

"I – You – !" Melodee smiled and had to turn around to hide her stifled laugher as the poor mage struggled to regain his composure.

"Ah, yes! I see that you are lost for words. I would be too were I in your place!" cried the elf, nodding his head sagely. "Off you go, now. It would be unwise to keep the lovely servant of your Maker waiting, would it not?"

With those words, the mage attempted to storm off with as much dignity as he could muster. Considering the circumstances, Melodee thought he had done quite admirably! She caught Gilmore's eye, and they both smiled with mirth once more as they approached the elf.

"Ah, and who have we here? You two must be the new recruits that our fearless and stoic leader told me of. He neglected to tell me, however, that one of you was a dark-haired temptress that would surely steal my poor heart away." The elf stepped forward gracefully and swept into a low bow.

"Yes. I am Melodee, and this is Ser Rory Gilmore. We are, as Duncan told you, the two recruits from Highever," she replied with a roll of her eyes. "I take it that we are in the presence of the infamous Zevran?"

The elf appeared ecstatic, and his entire face lit up as he launched into speech once more. "Ah, so you have heard, then, of my irresistible charm, my sinfully handsome face, and my unparalleled prowess in the bedroom? Or perhaps it is simply my skill on the battlefield that has earned me notoriety?"

Ignoring her friend's incredulous cough, Melodee held back a smile and replied, "None of the above, I'm afraid. We were told to look for an outspoken man with a knack for attracting trouble."

Zevran adopted a deeply hurt expression. "My beauty! You wound me! Alas, but there will be time enough for you to learn of my aforementioned attributes, as we will be venturing into the Wilds together tomorrow. Terribly romantic, all the tromping around through swamp that we have to look forward to." Gilmore must have looked affronted, for Zevran gestured to him as he continued. "Oh, and if you are concerned about your beau getting jealous, there is no need. I am happy to hold his hand as well."

The knight turned a brilliant shade of red, and Melodee replied for both of them. "The Korcari Wilds, you say? What for?"

"Now _that_," winked Zevran, "would ruin my great air of mystery should I tell you. I do believe that I will allow Duncan the honor of informing you of the task to come."

Melodee nodded her agreement, and the three of them headed off in search of Duncan and the other recruits. On their way through the camp, Gilmore asked, "So Zevran –"

"Zev," he interrupted.

"Alright, _Zev_," Gilmore continued. "How exactly did you end up with the Grey Wardens?"

"Ah! That is quite the story, brave knight," Zevran began enthusiastically. "I am, contrary to popular belief, not of royal blood."

At this declaration, Melodee scoffed, but the elf clearly chose to ignore her and continued on. "I am, in fact, the son of an Antivan whore who was sold for a rather substantial price to the infamous Antivan Crows at a tender, young age. Perhaps you have heard of the Crows?"

He grinned broadly as Melodee and Gilmore looked at one another in shock. "Well, I quickly became one of the best assassins in the business, and the Crows decided to send me on a particularly profitable job: to kill one of the legendary Grey Wardens. Well, I was never one to turn down a challenge – especially not one that would pay so well as this one – and off I went to get rid of one such warden by the name of Duncan."

"You were sent to kill _Duncan_?" asked Gilmore, his voice as surprised as Melodee felt.

"I was, and indeed, am still surprised that I did not end up killed myself. All was going to plan, as my plans usually do. I had been following this Duncan fellow for about a week, and decided to make my move one evening while a particularly intoxicated soldier stood watch. I crept through the shadows up to Duncan's sleeping form –" Here Zevran began prowling forward in a stooped position to better portray his story. "As soon as I had reached him, I readied my poisoned dagger, and promptly found myself flat on my back with my own dagger an inch away from my tender neck! And, between you and me, taking the mighty and stealthy Zevran Arainai by surprise is quite the feat!"

Melodee could only nod in a bemused sort of way.

"Needless to say, I was in no position to bargain, but before I got a single word out, Duncan informed me that instead of killing me, he would see to it that I became a Grey Warden. Apparently they were in bad need of fighters with my… unique… set of skills. I have been here ever since, and have not looked back."

"That is quite the tale, providing it is all true," said Gilmore. Melodee suspected that he wasn't quite sure how he felt about the quirky Antivan, but like her, found it difficult to dislike him.

"So, you were trained as an assassin?" she asked. Her eyes had strayed to the beautiful pair of daggers he wore on his back. "What exactly did your training consist of?"

Zevran sighed dramatically. "The delicate trade of the assassin has, alas, become a lost art. You will find none better than I at detecting and setting traps, preparing potent poisons and bombs, and, of course, sneaking up and stabbing an unsuspecting foe in the back."

As he finished speaking, the trio arrived at Duncan's tent. The senior warden, Ser Jory, and none other than Daveth the rogue already stood assembled. Melodee groaned as the dark-haired man smiled and waved at her.

_Of course. Of all the people in this entire camp, the other recruit had to be _him_._

"Good. You have arrived," said Duncan before turning to address Zevran. "I trust that you have finished upsetting the mages?"

"The poor fellow just needed a bit of encouragement is all, my good Ser Duncan," Zevran replied lightly.

Duncan gave the elf a disapproving glance before turning to address the four recruits. "You will be heading into the Korcari Wilds tomorrow morning, led by Zevran, with two tasks to complete."

Here, Ser Jory interrupted. "The Wilds? Nobody said anything about venturing into those damned woods!"

Duncan ignored both him and the smirks of Daveth and Zevran. "Your first task will be to retrieve one vial of darkspawn blood each." He continued by answering the question on each of the recruits' minds. "The blood is required for the Joining ritual which will take place directly after you return. The second task is to retrieve a cache of Grey Warden documents. Zevran has been told the rough whereabouts of this cache."

Zevran, whose gaze was still on the concerned Ser Jory, nudged the knight and said, "Fear not, good ser, for you will be accompanied by none other than the indomitable Zevran!"

Duncan again ignored the snickering of the other recruits, but turned to chastise the elf. "All the same, you must all exercise caution while completing this task. Darkspawn are nothing to be trifled with. I would suggest that you all get a good night's sleep, as you will need your energy tomorrow."

As the group dispersed, Melodee headed for her borrowed tent at the edge of the army camp, Lykos trotting happily at her heels. As she stooped to enter the small shelter, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning, she saw Gilmore standing behind her. She cocked her head in an unspoken question.

"Melodee, I know that you're trying to be strong, now that we're here in the middle of an army and all," he began softly, "but you can talk to me if you need to. Don't let it eat away at you – I know from experience that unresolved issues can cause you to falter in battle. I don't want anything to happen to you tomorrow."

Standing, Melodee forced a smile. Her grief was all too real, but she knew she needed to focus on the present for now. "Thank you, and I promise that I will talk about things soon. For now, though, I think we need to be concerned with getting in and out of the Wilds alive."

After a pause, he nodded, still looking unsure of himself as he turned to leave.

"Hey," Melodee called softly after him. As he faced her once more, she placed a soft hand on his arm. "It'll be just like training together tomorrow – I've got your back if you've got mine?"

His smile was weak, but genuine. "Always."


End file.
